Two Poems
Stan Sanvel Rubin Define “Voice.” Define “Flower.” In Pyongyang missiles roll down the boulevard of trucks like a toxic stream while crowds cheer with bright colors that signify the people’s happiness at death, the exclusion of self from the living animal a crowd makes waving colors that wave the people like a flag. Here in the Land of the Free, a white and pink corsage lays half soaked in a gutter where the limousine picked her up, the girl whose heart was broken when she was dropped, alone, at the same curb, watching the stream of dirty water slowly spin the bent flower like a spider. About Rain Nothing settles things like rain. Back into earth, softening earth. What rises is not for domestic use. What rises into clouds is flight. A healthy body is 70% water. Tears, piss, sweat. Blood is half water. Love drinks from it like a river. If you don’t understand this, try again. |
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About the Author: Stan Sanvel Rubin’s poems have appeared in many magazines, most recently in One, Poetry Northwest, The Laurel Review, American Journal of Poetry, Watershed Review, and Hubbub. His fourth full collection, There. Here. was published by Lost Horse Press in 2013. He lives on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State.